


Everything Dies

by Llybian



Series: Summer Nights [30]
Category: Slayers (Anime & Manga)
Genre: F/M, Gentle existential conversations, pet death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 16:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30142047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llybian/pseuds/Llybian
Summary: He frowned. Sure, it wasn’t exactly “a flight of angels sing thee to thy rest,” but she’d asked a monster to give a eulogy for a domestic cat. What exactly had she been expecting?“I just hope you do better at my funeral,” she added, ladling a shovelful of dirt into the grave.There was a pause, slightly longer than it should’ve been. “…What?” he asked.
Relationships: Filia Ul Copt/Xellos
Series: Summer Nights [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/796563
Kudos: 9





	Everything Dies

The box was small, cardboard and taped closed along the edges. The markered-on label insisted that it was originally meant to hold paintbrushes, but its purpose had changed. It was a poor casket, really, but it was the best Filia could do on short notice.

She lowered it into the hole she’d dug, deep enough that she hoped that no marauding coyote would make to rob the tiny tomb. She wiped her dirtied gloves against her skirt as she stood up on the parched grass of her backyard. The shovel was by her feet, but she didn’t feel quite ready to stitch the ground up.

“Val didn’t want to be here for this?” the lone figure next to her asked.

Filia dabbed the sweat from her brow and looked sideways at her fellow “mourner”; if he could even be called that. “No,” she said. “He’s pretty broken up about it. This is his first real experience with death.”

“In this lifetime,” Xellos pointed out.

“Yes,” Filia nodded gravely. “Gravos and Jillas are trying to cheer him up—they’re taking him out for ice cream.”

Xellos gave a little smile. “A salve for all life’s wounds,” he observed.

“Don’t make fun,” she snapped, turning to him with a sour look on her face. “She was his first pet—this is a big deal for him.”

“I wasn’t making fun,” he scoffed. “Don’t be touchy just because you didn’t manage to keep her from sampling your highly toxic art supplies.”

Filia didn’t say anything. It was like he’d taken hold of a screwdriver in her gut and twisted it.

He seemed to take pity, at least enough to change the subject. “Do you think you’ll get him another pet? Perhaps one that curiosity isn’t so inclined to kill?”

“I don’t know,” Filia said with a massive sigh. “It seems too soon. Like we’d be trying to replace her or something.”

“It doesn’t have to be another cat,” Xellos pointed out. “It could be something you could keep in a cage so it won’t go wandering off and getting into trouble—a guinea pig or some other small rodent.”

Filia grimaced. “Don’t those only live for four or five years? I don’t want to do this again so soon.”

Xellos tapped his staff into the ground where it crunched against the drought-starved grass. “You’re going to have to get used to this, you know,” he commented.

She stared at him, eyes narrowing as she looked for his angle. “What, do you think I’m going to turn this backyard into some kind of pet cemetery?” she asked derisively. “I told you, Snowball wasn’t even supposed to _be_ in that storeroom. Someone left the door partway open. It was an accident. Despite what you may think, I’m not negligent enough to let the same thing happen to another pet.”

“I don’t mean that,” Xellos replied calmly. “You’re a dragon living among humans, Filia. It just follows that you’re going to need to get used to funerals.”

She was silent for a moment, looking back into the makeshift cat tomb that scarred her lawn. There were some things that she just didn’t want to think about anymore than she had to.

“I suppose it’ll be rather odd for the town several decades down the line, now that I come to think of it,” Xellos mused. “If you stay here, you’ll practically be a fixture. Generations will pass, yet the grandchildren of your long-dead first customers will still know that they can get good deals on ceramics and melee weapons from the pretty little shop on the main street and the dragon girl who runs it.”

She gritted her teeth. “Do we really have to talk about this?” she asked. “It’s so morbid.”

He put his hands on his hips and gazed heavenward, rolling his eyes at her under his closed lids. “Morbid? At a funeral? How dare I?” he conceded mockingly. “In any case,” he went on, “if you chose to settle amongst other dragons—those with the same long life span as you—then you wouldn’t have to think about it as much. But you didn’t. You chose to live among people who will die significantly before you.”

“Oh, a gift for magic has certainly been known to increase a human’s lifespan, but that can only go so far,” he added. “Your neighbors, your customers, Jillas, Gravos, Miss Lina, Mister Gourry, Mister Zelgadis and Miss Amelia… in all likelihood, they will all die before you do. Don’t you think you should prepare yourself for that fact?”

Despite the summer’s heat, the moisture in the air around Filia felt clammier than it did humid. Near everyone in her life that she counted as important had an expiration date well before hers. It was a terrible thing to think. Hadn’t there been enough death already?

“I don’t think anyone could really prepare for that,” she said softly.

Xellos shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe,” he allowed, “But at least if you try then it won’t take you by surprise.”

Filia wasn’t sure about that. Even the hot stab of surprise seemed preferable to the cold, slowly tightening noose of dread. But there was no forgetting now that it had been brought up.

“Umm…” she said, breaking the silence as she reached down to pick up the shovel. As she drew back up, she looked at the makeshift casket intently once more before saying, “…So… do you suppose we should say a few words?”

Xellos looked mildly perplexed. “Words?”

"Yes,” Filia said, slightly impatient. “Words.”

He cocked his head to the side. “You mean something in the ‘Ode on the Death of a Favorite Cat’ vein?”

“Just… something nice, before we close up the grave,” Filia said.

“…Very well,” Xellos said after a moment’s hesitation.

He took a step forward toward the open grave, thought for a moment, and then picked up a bit of loose dirt from the pile beside the hole. He cleared his throat. “Snowball,” he began. “Truly your death has taught us that turpentine should be kept in a sealed container and on a high shelf where a small animal cannot poison itself on it.” He let the dirt fall through his fingers and onto the sad cardboard box. “Rest in peace.”

He stepped away from the grave, apparently satisfied with himself.

She gave him a hard look before shaking her head and chipping her shovel into the ground. “That was _miserable_ ,” she declared.

He frowned. Sure, it wasn’t exactly “a flight of angels sing thee to thy rest,” but she’d asked a monster to give a eulogy for a domestic cat. What exactly had she been expecting?

“I just hope you do better at my funeral,” she added, ladling a shovelful of dirt into the grave.

There was a pause, slightly longer than it should’ve been. “…What?” he asked.

“Well, it makes sense doesn’t it?” she said, stopping her shoveling to lean on the handle as she looked at him. “If I’ve got to get used to funerals then you _really_ have to get used to funerals.”

“I wouldn’t imagine many people would invite me,” he said lightly.

Filia snorted. “Since when do you need an invitation to show up anywhere?”

She got back to her shoveling. “So, are you saying you wouldn’t show up to pay your last respects to me?” She paused. “Or more like your _first_ respects, come to think of it.”

His eyebrows were drawn together ever so slightly. “I… may,” he said carefully.

A wistful look crossed her features for a moment and her fingers squeezed the shovel handle. “So… after I’m gone,” she said slowly, “…will you still remember me?”

“Hmm?” he asked, as though lost in thought.

“Like, after I’m dead will you just sort of… forget I ever happened, or will you still wince every time someone says the word ‘garbage?’”

He gave a smile that was accompanied by a barely audible laugh. “I can say with certainty that your rudeness will live on long after you’re gone.”

She nodded, satisfied. “And you’ll remember it,” she said certainly. “So that’ll be my immortality.”

He opened one eye, more a look of cautious confusion than of malevolence on his face. “Your… immortality?”

“Yes,” she said. “Because you won’t die, right?”

He paused, absent of his usual nasal “Hmm”s to fill the space between words. Instead he opened his other eye and regarded her words very seriously. “I won’t die,” he finally said, “…naturally.”

She tapped her shovel against the filled-in hole, packing in the loose dirt. “Naturally,” she repeated, a slight trace of bitterness in her voice.

“And you, Filia?” he asked, sweeping over so that he was standing on the other side of the small grave from her. “Will you remember me?”

She frowned. “Why would you even ask that? It’s not like it makes any difference in my case.”

“You got to ask me,” he pointed out. “It’s only fair.”

She tossed the shovel to one side. “Of course I will,” she said, as though it went without saying. “But that doesn’t even mean the same thing. You’re not mortal, so if you remember me even after I’m gone, then you can be my immortality. But I am mortal, so it doesn’t matter if I remember you because eventually I’ll die.”

“Of course it matters,” he chided. “It just means that instead you’re my…” he trailed off. “…Ah, that’s it, isn’t it?” he said, almost to himself. He shook his head, a strange smile on his face. “I might’ve known,” he said.

She gave him an odd look “…Might’ve known what?” she asked.

“Never mind,” he said. He let out what was very nearly a sigh and extended a hand to her across the grave. “I think it’s about time we joined Val, Gravos and Jillas at the ice cream parlor,” he said. “I think we both could use some cheering up.”

She looked at his hand hesitantly. “Even you?” she asked.

“It happens sometimes, Filia,” he said patiently.

She slowly reached out and put her hand in his, walking around the grave and over to his side. “Who’s paying?” she asked.

“You, of course,” he said simply as they walked toward the back gate. “It’s your fault I need cheering up.”

She scoffed. “Me? What did I do?”

“That… is a secret,” he said, guiding her along until they reached the sidewalk.

She groaned. “Of course,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“However…” he said slowly, “I can give you a sincere opinion on this whole situation.”

“Really?” she asked, as though doubting his ability to be sincere.

He stopped their hand-in-hand jaunt in the direction of the ice cream parlor to look her directly in the eye. “…I think you should get that guinea pig,” he said solemnly.

Filia raised a blonde eyebrow.

“Everything dies, Filia,” he said. “Both you and Val need to come to understand that. If the only reason you don’t want to get another pet is because you don’t want to deal with it dying, then that’s not reason enough. After all, it’s not as though you’d end your friendship with Miss Lina or any of the others simply because in all likelihood they’ll die before you.”

He looked away from her. “It’s not as though I’d leave you because I know someday you must die.”

She stared at him, her mouth slightly open. Her hand felt slick in her glove, more resting against his hand than actually held by it. She wanted to remember this moment for as long as her lengthy but finite lifespan would allow. She wanted to take it out later and examine it from multiple angles—question it, deliberate on it, and treasure it.

…But jut for the course of their conversation along the way to the ice cream parlor, she wanted to distance herself from it.

“Xellos…” she croaked, not realizing that her throat had gone slightly dry.

“Yes?”

“You…” she began, casting around for what to say before deciding on, “…You’re not seriously comparing me to a pet are you?”

He grinned and continued his movement forward, pulling her along by nothing more than his fingertips lightly brushing against hers. “I would never,” he said in mock offense.

“Good,” she said.

“…But if I were to,” he went on, “I’m sure I wouldn’t pick a guinea pig or a cat to compare you to. I’d probably choose something more long lived and overly talkative, like a parrot.”

She rolled her eyes.

“No?” he said. “How about an iguana? Am I getting closer?”

“Not in the least,” she said, lacing her fingers more firmly in his. “But you seem to have cheered up. Are you sure you still need me to pay for that ice cream?”

“Nice try, Filia,” he said, leaning in closer to her as they walked down the road. “You’re not getting out of it that easily. I told you that ice cream is a salve for all life’s wounds. Since you’re the one that inflicted them, you’re the one that needs to fix it.”

“It’s not like you to bruise so easily,” she commented. “It’s very…” she trailed off for a moment, the pieces falling into place so suddenly that it startled her.

“…Very mortal of you,” she finished.


End file.
